


Rhododendron Dragon

by Megeara



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Dark, Genji Is A Good Bro, Hanzo Is A Good Bro, Hanzo-centric, Heart flowers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, More characters to be added, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shimada Dad's A+ Parenting, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Soulmates, When I'm done Hanzo will be covered in flowers from head to toe, Young Genji Shimada, Young Hanzo Shimada, canon-divergence, endgame mchanzo, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megeara/pseuds/Megeara
Summary: „Heart flowers are made by a cosmic force,” his mother tells him on his third birthday, as she carefully puts another layer of concealer on his pale skin. Her voice is hushed, barely above a whisper as to not be heard by the guards standing before the doors and she’s looking intently in his eyes, urging him to listen. “It’s a mark born with everyone, one that will never wither because it symbolizes a person’s inner and most important quality. You may get more in your life, but they’ll never represent who you are deep inside.”Beware the soulless dragon, they whisper in Hanamura.Hanzo is born with a warning in his heart, and dragons in his soul. Hiding his heart flower is his only option, until circumstances force his hands.





	1. Chapter 1

„Heart flowers are made by a cosmic force” his mother tells him on his third birthday, as she carefully puts another layer of concealer on his pale skin. Her voice is hushed, barely above a whisper as to not be heard by the guards standing before the doors and she’s looking intently in his eyes, urging him to listen. “It’s a mark born with everyone, one that will never wither because it symbolizes a person’s inner and most important quality. You may get more in your life, but they’ll never represent who you are deep inside.”

She turns him over, and runs her hand through his hair gently, pulling it into a high ponytail. The delicate white scarf she laces into his hair is etched with small green flowers; the end of it tickles the boy’s nape. Her brown eyes are gentle, face completely calm, but her hands are trembling as they grasp his shoulders with desperate force; the child almost turns his sight away, a tinge of fear settling deep inside him.

“Never, _never_ show your flowers to anyone, Hanzo. They’ll see your weaknesses and turn them against you. They’ll crush you, and we can’t let that happen. We can’t afford that.” Her right palm slips down his bicep, caressing the only unconcealed mark, the dragon. “Please tell me you understand.”

Hanzo takes a deep breath, his small hands involuntarily kneading the edge of his hakama. “Hai, mother.”

She visually deflates, tension - which Hanzo didn’t notice was there at all – escaping her with a soft breath. Her eyes immediately drop her gaze, intensity dulling down submissively. She slowly starts to stand up, amd flinches when Hanzo tries to help her up, one hand coming up to protectively wrap around her stomach bearing his brother.

Hanzo stares baffled at her mother, his outstretched arm slowly descending to his side. His face goes blank, a void expression a child this age should never wear. He marches out of the room, leaving his trembling mother behind.

That night he examines his washed skin in the moonlight of his room. He runs his fingertips through the small, paly purple petals of his heart flower. He can read it just fine, the rhododendron nestled between elongated leaves neatly above his heart. His heart constricts painfully in his chest as he remembers back to the flash of fear in his mother’s eyes, the distance his father kept between them during the celebration, their voices devoid of genuine emotion as they talk to him. He remembers and understands.

No one wants to be close to a person, whose heart screams a _warning_.

* * *

 

 

Genji is a fresh breath of air for Hanzo, a little brother he didn’t know he wanted, but cherished anyway. He doesn’t know that he was even born, until two weeks later when his father offhandedly announces that Genji is born. The smile that appears on Hanzo’s face almost splits his face in two, he has to hide it behind his hands. He bows deeply before his father and hurries to his room, where he can openly express his joy. The stony eyes of the inhabitants of the Shimada Castle always made him uncomfortable, but now this feeling is paired with anxious fear.

He huddles himself in his bed’s comforters, hogging the blankets to himself closely, and bows his head to whisper his brother’s name into the fabric. Genji. Genji. Genji. Again and again, feeling it melt in his mouth sweet and sinful like the caramel he got from a guard once without his parent’s permission. It tastes like happiness, a strong name for a strong character. Hanzo idly wonders what his heart flower is. Maybe he is a wise like the walnut or elegant like the locus tree, or… or…

They don’t let him see him. No matter how many times he asks to be in the same room as him, they always refuse. When he begs his father, he comes up against cold resistance. No, you may not.

After a month Hanzo can’t take it anymore. He sneaks out that night, small socked feet barely making any sound on the marble floor. His heart is in his throat as he slips from corner to corner, dodging guards. He can’t be out under curfew, it’s forbidden. If he’s caught, they’ll surely punish him.

He reaches his brother’s nursery. A thin sheet of sweat glistens on his skin, stress making his blood race all the more. He slowly turns the etched doorknob with a handkerchief, not to raise awareness. The door creaks anyway, and Hanzo flinches hard. He pushes himself up the wall, eyes frantically looking left and right, breath held in his tiny chest.

He lets the air out in heaving huffs, relief practically palpable.

He sneaks into the room.

Hanzo finds Genji in the far corner of the room, sleeping in the crib. The curtains are not drawn fully in, so the Moon’s light can illuminate parts of the child’s face. Hanzo has to stand on his tippy toes on the chair next to the crib, to have a look at Genji. He’s so excited he has to stuff his hands in his _jinbei_  to prevent himself from touching.

Genji is tiny, Hanzo thinks. His face has round, chubby cheeks, a tuff of brown hair stands on end of his head, one lock falling onto his forehead. He looks like a small angel, fisted hands tucked under his chin. Disregarding his initial instincts  Hanzo pulls the light blue quilt up, to cover him better.

Hanzo almost wishes that Genji would wake up, so he could touch his skin, run his fingers through the coarse hair and whisper a heartfelt ‘I’m your brother, _otouto_ ’ in his ears. But he can’t. He really can’t, so he settles for just watching over Genji, eyes drinking in the sight.

His legs however lack the stamina to keep him constantly tip-toed, so he rocks back on his soles, almost falling off the chair and involuntarily rocking the crib with his hands in his haste to balance himself.

Hanzo freezes as he sees his brother’s eyes crack open. For a moment everything seems to stop as their gaze meet; Hanzo’s wild, widely open eyes and Genji’s confused, hazy ones. Then Genji’s lips wobble and he wails. Hanzo hesitates, shushes him, and doesn’t notice the guard stepping into the room, until he is painfully yanked off the chair by his arm. His cry of shock overlays with Genji’s distressed voice.

He is kicking his feet, as he is forcefully removed from the room. He doesn’t want to leave Genji, he only _just_ met him, it’s not _fair._

The guard drags him through dark corridors, holding Hanzo’s hands behind his back loosely, but firmly. _~~(He doesn’t know to fear him, he’s got no warning.)~~_ Hanzo’s desperate cries died down to silent tears he can’t keep at bay. The small droplets fall to the ground like precious crystals. The corridors turn familiar; the ornaments are more colourful here, the wall carpets depicting battles and vivid dragons. Hanzo’s insides turn into a cold knot, and he can’t compose himself before he is tossed into his father’s room.

He falls to his knees, scraping them badly, but he bites back the yelp that wants to escape the cage of his throat. He scrambles to his feet, pulling his clothes down to smooth it over, before bowing the deepest he can by the waist. The loose strands of his hair fall to his face, it feels right to hide behind them. The guard’s already reporting to his father.

“How’s Genji?” his father cuts him off. “Is he hurt?”

There is rage boiling behind the Kumicho’s eyes, the muscles in his arms are pulled taut. Hanzo doesn’t dare look up, in case his father lashes out, spitting fire at him, like the purple serpent crawling up his right arm.

“Young master Genji was distressed the last I saw him. I reckon young master Hanzo has woken him up. There was no sign of physical injury to the newborn, Kumicho.”

His father circles his desk, pouring himself a shot of sake from an opened bottle. His father must have had a stressful night, if he’s already halfway through the _tokkuri_. Hanzo can just catch the whiff of alcohol from where he stands. It burns in his nose, slipping down his throat, making it close up.

“Hanzo” his father bites out. “Come here.”

It’s a direct order he can’t avoid obeying. He has a sliver of hope that maybe his father wants to check him over if _he’s_ okay, but it all but evaporates as the Kumicho yanks his head up by his hair, crowding him, so Hanzo’s nose is inches away from his. Hanzo thinks that he can become inebriated from the smell of alcohol pouring out his father’s mouth like incense.

“Did you touch him?”

The man’s hushed voice rings in Hanzo’s ear. He starts to tremble, a betraying tear slipping out the corner of his eye. “Father, it hurts. Pl-please, let me go? I just wanted to see him, why didn’t you let-“

He yanks again, harder. Hanzo has to follow his hand, his throat creating an arch. “I’m not going to ask again. Did you _touch_ him?”

Hanzo chokes out a panicked chain of _no_ , he didn’t, no, no.

The grasp disappears suddenly, and the next moment Hanzo stumbles to the floor by the force of an open handed slap. He slips his trembling fingertips to his burning cheeks, and stands. His father towers over him, a glimpse of remorse glinting behind his drunken haze, before it’s replaced by the same old cold distance.

“You will start your training tomorrow. You will show up in full garment at the crack of dawn. Your punishment of skipping curfew will be discussed there. Dismissed.”

Hanzo feels detached as he mumbles a _yes, father_ , and doesn’t bother to bow again. He feels like he’s out of his body, adrenaline abruptly leaving his system. His head swims, and he checks minutes apart if his cheek has finally split open, but no matter, there is never any blood. He scratches at his heart flower over his clothes, until the skin is raw and red.

He knows that this may be the first time his father raised a hand against him, but it won’t be the last.

* * *

  

The next morning he finds two new flowers on his skin, while he applies concealer to his heart flower. Small, white cardamines are woven through a bigger, deep blue convolvulus under his right rib cage. A parent’s error mixed delicately with the loss of hope. He hums, because after a night like this he cannot laugh, and dabs more product on them too. Soon he has to ask her mother for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess that happened? Oops. Let me know what you think, I feed on comments and kudos, haha. Be gentle with me though, this is my first fic in this fandom. <3
> 
> The flowers so far:  
> Rhododendron (pale purple; above heart): Beware  
> Cardamines (white; under right ribcage): Paternal error  
> Convolvulus, major (deep blue; under right ribcage): Extinguished hopes
> 
> Japanese terms you may not be familiar with:  
> hakama - traditional Japanese wear  
> jinbei - traditional Japanese sleepwear  
> otuoto - younger brother  
> tokkuri - bottle for sake  
> Kumicho - yakuza boss
> 
> Talk to me on tumblr (gameworm) or on McHanzo discord (Starkanium #1181)


	2. Chapter 2

The next two years go by him in a blur of tedious training and learning. His hands hurt from the hours of practice and his muscles are fatigued after each training session with his sensei. His hands first are unaccustomed to the weapons he has to wield, the bow and the wooden practice katana, but he soon gets better with them, as his muscles develop. The meditation after helps his mind calm down, but not the ache in his chest. He’s often thinking about Genji, thinking of his well-being and wishing for one more second with him, but he still feels the welts on his back he got after the first time, so he shies away from the idea of sneaking out again.

There is always one advisor and a guard overlooking his training. Hanzo has no doubt that they are simply spying on him, reporting for the Kumicho about his progress, and if it lacks, how they should push him more. To prove them wrong, he trains twice as hard, till he almost collapses. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillows, and doesn’t dream.

He’s five, when one night he’s woken up by guards banging on the door. He looks out the window, and sees that the moon is still perched on the sky. It must be past midnight. The guards wait outside for him to dress in proper training gear; he blearily puts on a dark, short kimono, which covers half of his torso, and ties a hakama on his hip. While he’s at it, he doesn’t forget to messily cover his flowers.

Hanzo has a bad feeling in his gut; he can taste the bitter anxiety churning there. His head pounds from lack of sleep, and he feels sluggish, like he can collapse any second fast asleep. What do they want?

Instead of the usual route to the training grounds, they take a different turn. It’s both exhilarating, discovering new corridors and the hidden routes of the castle, but also kind of terrifying for the child. _Where_ do they lead him? He didn’t do anything wrong, did he? He doesn’t want to be punished. He nervously looks up at the two guards, a man and a woman, and decides to ask the latter.

Her face is emotionless when she looks down at him for a second, before turning his gaze back, ignoring him altogether. Hanzo feels his face heat up from the irritation, and he has to cut back a whine which wants to come out. He bites his lower lip, and turns his eyes down, sulkily examining the toe-cap of his boots. For his surprise, the woman answers after they take a few turns.

“Your father wants you on a specially secluded training area.” Her voice is deep and scratchy. Before Hanzo can ask more, she puts up a hand. “No more questions.”

“You shouldn’t have answered the first one either.” The man hisses. “The Kumicho won’t be happy with you if he finds out.”

“It is a good thing then, that he won’t.” There is a carefully laid threat behind her words. The man doesn’t speak up again.

After a few minutes, they enter the castle’s garden, and make their way towards the other end of it. The air is cold, it pierces the boy’s skin like tiny needles, and Hanzo has to pull his kimono in, to preserve heat. His teeth are chattering, when they finally reach a small building, hidden partially beneath a group of black pines.

They enter the shack. It’s just as small as it looks from the outside. It lacks human presence; the furniture is immaculate; polished pictures of landscapes hang from the wall. Not one spot on the floor. For all means, the whole atmosphere screams perfection. It’s creepy.

The man shuts the door behind them, and the woman moves to the bookcase. She takes out a small device from one of her hidden pockets, and turns it on. It emits a high pitched sound and a holographic display shoots out from the tip of it. The woman types in a code, and to Hanzo’s amazement the bookcase slides smoothly to the side. He gasps in surprise, and hides a smile behind his hands, giggling into his palms. He’s never seen anything like this before. He can only watch with open eyes filled with wonder, as another display appears. This time the man steps beside her and he lets a scanner beam run down his eye. The machine beeps and turns green. The wall’s plates slide up to reveal a tunnel.

With new enthusiasm Hanzo follows the guards down, down, down on stairs and corridors, till they reach the bottom. Hanzo has to close his eyes for a second, before he can survey his surroundings, the room is so bright. When he can finally see through the black spots dancing before his eyes, he is left slack jawed. The room is huge, bigger than anything Hanzo has ever encountered. Its length is double its width, which has eight lanes, and there are different shaped and sized targets scattered around it.

His high spirits are soon dragged down, when he finally spots his father and sensei. He schools his expression, and hurries to bow before both of them with an appropriate greeting.

His father’s voice is as cold as ever when he addresses him. “A true warrior should always be prepared to fight in any circumstance, be it at night, or right after sleep.” He gestures to a bow held in his sensei’s hand. “You’ll have to use this bow. See that target there? “He points at a massive target around 200 metres away. Hanzo nods. ”You can’t leave until you hit dead center three times in quick succession. Your sensei will supervise you, but will not assist you. Understood?”

Hanzo’s voice is steady, but he feels like his insides turned to ice, he feels numb. “Hai, otousan. Wakarimasu.”

His father claps him on the shoulder, hard, and pushes the bow into his hands. “Don’t embarrass me.” Then he leaves.

Hanzo weighs the weapon in his hand. It’s heavier than he is accustomed to, its chord stronger and not as elastic. He has to use double the strength he uses with the training bow. Hanzo fears he will be down here for days and nights before he keels over.

His sensei hands him a quiver of arrows, sharp and deadly. He can cut himself with the tips if he’s not careful. Hanzo can see the pity in the man’s eyes. He doesn’t believe in him, he realizes, and it sends his stomach down to his toes where they escape to the ground, rooting him in place. The man guard sits down on of the benches running parallel to the wall. His arms are crossed; his eyes blankly scan the ceiling. The woman meets his eyes for a second, steely gaze drilling into fearful ones, and dips her chin morosely.

Hanzo inclines his head, more on instinct than anything. He closes his eyes, breathes in, centers himself, and breathes out. He moves in stance on instinct, and picks up an arrow, nocks it and aims. In and out.

It flies off course.

Hours tick by. Slowly his aim gets better, but his strength depletes. His muscles spasm from exertion, his clothes are drenched in sweat. He asks for water, and the woman unhooks a flask from her belt to drop in his hands. It’s stale and lukewarm. Hanzo never tasted anything better.

The burning feeling in his muscles slowly fades. He becomes detached after a while. The monotone rhythm of shooting lulls him. Nock, pull, aim, let go. Again and again, till there is no feeling in his fingers, which are red under the protective glove. His vision takes on a blue hue, everything seemingly slows down. The air expands in his lungs, and rushes out in calm breaths. It’s easy. Nock, pull, aim, let go. One after another.

He doesn’t feel the hands on his shoulder as he nocks another arrow. Pulls. Shoots. He only feels peace and a burning heat on his right bicep. He doesn’t feel them taking away the quiver and the bow from his hands which are grasping it so strongly, they have to pry it from the trap of his fingers.

He however feels the cold water suddenly running down his neck and under his clothes. He shrieks and hisses as he comes to himself. His sensei is crouched in front of him, and the woman stands beside him, an empty bottle hanging from her right hand loosely.

He blinks. “What happened?” His voice sounds lost.

His sensei’s mouth ticks up at the corner. He motions behind Hanzo's back. “See for yourself, young master. It’s incredible.”

Hanzo hesitantly turns towards the targets, and his eyes widen in shock. There are eight arrows protruding from the center, each a hairbreadth away from each other. Hanzo doesn’t remember the shots he had to make to achieve this.

Suddenly he’s feeling drained. He doesn’t know what happened, how long he’s been down there, he’s exhausted, hungry and thirsty. The strain on his body took a toll on his mind, and he’s minutes away from crying.

He’s not aware of when he started falling, nor will he remember it, but he plummets into unconsciousness anyway.

* * *

 

The doctors let him out of the infirmary two days later. They recommend he takes it easy for a few days, but Hanzo knows that if his father wants him to repeat the affair at night again, his word won’t mean a thing. His handwriting is still not as neat as he wants it to be, and the pains in his dominant hand not help him to progress. He comes to the decision that until his father decides if he needs a repeat session, he will focus more on reading and learning. 

He takes a long bath. He’s absentmindedly scrubbing at his skin, picturing a two-year-old boy with Genji’s curls and golden brown eyes. He wonders if he has learnt to walk already. Maybe he even said his first words. The thought makes his chest constrict in sorrow. He wants to be there for him, he wants to play with him, and show him how to find the best hiding places in the garden, teach him the names of his favourite birds, tell him tales he read from books about heroic battles and dragons.

He’s wiping himself down with a towel when he notices. A pale pink rimmed flower with vivid orange petals. The cactus flower etched into his skin is sitting smugly on his right bicep, like a badge, showing the world without a shame what Hanzo endured.

Hanzo scrunches up his nose, and covers the mirror with the used towel. He doesn’t want a reminder of the time down the secret basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still on Autumn break so I try to write as much as I can. Later chapters will probably come out a lot slower, since I'll be really busy. Future warning.  
> Also, this was supposed to be a darker chapter, but my mind sorta took a turn and said that I had to write this instead? I don't even know, I didn't question it.
> 
> This chapter:  
> Cactus flower (pink&orange right bicep) - Endurance  
> Hai, otousan. Wakarimasu. - Yes, father. Understood.
> 
> Talk to me down the comments, on McHanzo discord (Starkanium #1181) or on tumblr (gameworm). I don't bite.


	3. Chapter 3

Hanzo packs his bag after polishing his equipment, when he hears it; harsh voices screaming at each other down the corridor, one man and a woman. Curiosity prickles the back of his neck, so giving into it he hoists his package up, and makes his way towards his room. He makes sure, to look around himself, and out the window from the corner of his eyes, before suddenly taking a turn towards the voices. As he comes closer, he recognizes them, just as his mother throws a glass to the floor. The shattering sound renders his father speechless, and in the following silence her mother’s voice rings clear.

“He’s our son too, Iwao. You can’t handle him like he’s not. How will he become next Kumicho, if our people look at him like a lowly peasant?”

“He’s a danger to the clan, Hisoka, can’t you see?” The man’s voice suddenly turns into a seething whisper.

His mother lets out a humourless laugh. “Do you think I’m not afraid? I pray each day that may he suddenly disappear.” Hanzo stands stone still. His heart feels like it was ripped open with bare hands, icy tendrils prickle the back of his eyes, and he realizes with a start that he’s crying.

Suddenly a hand appears in his sight, and he stumbles backwards, right into someone’s front. He spins around, and comes across the same woman who offered him a drink months ago down the secret basement. She’s looking down at him with emotionless eyes, one hand coming up to steady him. She lifts up her forefinger to her mouth to shush him. Hanzo can only stare at her with eyes wide, as she takes out a handkerchief from her pockets and wipes away his tears. When she deems his face clean, she squeezes his shoulder for a second, almost comfortingly, then circles him, and heads towards the room Hanzo’s been eavesdropping.

Her mother’s voice surfaces again. “I came here with a compromise. We need eyes on the child at all times, someone we can trust to keep the boy in line.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Hanzo hears a bottle being opened, and the sloshing sound of someone pouring themselves a drink. “What do you reckon, _tsuma_?”

“I already have someone in mind. Shizuki, please come in.”

Hanzo can’t believe this. He’s already under heavy scrutiny, they can’t do that, he doesn’t want this. He feels the air constrict in his throat, closing it up again. He hurries back to his room, and closes the door with a heavy bang. His equipment is thrown into the corner carelessly as Hanzo hides under the covers of his bed, hogging the blankets close to himself, his desperate mumbles of “why and “not fair” becoming muffled as he presses his lips to them.

But again, he now knows that life is rarely fair.

* * *

 

Shizuki is a silent one. She never talks to him, never intervenes with Hanzo’s activities. She also keeps her hands to herself, and Hanzo is oddly grateful for that. He’s not accustomed to anyone being around him long enough to keep up a conversation, but he yearns for human interaction. He’s been deprived so long that he doesn’t remember when was the last time when someone called his name affectionately or touched him without intent of harm or restraint.

After making sure that Shizuki won’t hurt him, if he opens his mouth, he decides to try it. Socializing. It sounds so simple yet he feels faint thinking about it

He starts with something simple: he greets the woman every morning with a small “Good morning” and tells her “Good-bye” each night. Every day without fail. He’s just becoming used to the silent stares and half-nods, when one morning he shuffles out of bed, yawns his greeting, and almost scalds himself with hot water, when he gets a quiet “Good morning, young master” back.

He points an accusatory finger at Shizuki, and shouts, momentarily forgetting himself. “You _can_ talk!”

Shizuki cocks her head to the side, and doesn’t speak up. She walks behind him, and helps him make his green tea, a small cup with one sugar.

Hanzo takes it, visible vibrating with excitement and awe. She made him tea, just as he likes it! “ _Arigatou gozaimasu_.” He sits down on the floor next to the low table, legs folded underneath him, then looks up from his tea with uncertain hope in his eyes. “Can we talk?”

Shizumi takes the seat cross-legged across from him, and looks. She watches for so long, Hanzo questions if it was a good idea to open his mouth, but then:

“What do you want to talk about?” Her voice is dry like sandpaper, the words dragging through it like shards of glass. Hanzo can’t believe how nice it sounds to his ears.

He furrows his brow. “I don’t know,” he admits with a sigh, feeling both encouraged and put off. “I don’t know what normal people usually talk about.” He thinks hard, then asks. “How did you know how I like my tea?”

“I watch,” she says with a tone that indicates, that she thought it was obvious.

Hanzo hums. “Well, yes, you do that a lot.”

They are sitting in comfortable silence, until Hanzo has to go to practice. She escorts him the same way as before, but Hanzo feels his remaining anxiety thaw, and slowly fade. She’s grumpy, he thinks, weird, but kind. It’s okay if she doesn’t want to talk, he can entertain himself.

The training is hard on his body as always, but he takes comfort in Shizuki’s presence, always watching, never speaking. He surprisingly doesn’t mind that she’ll probably report back to his father as soon as he closes his eyes. As long as she doesn’t show repulsion, he’s happy to have her close.

* * *

 

Their relationship slowly gets better each day. Shizumi would pack him meals, greet him without prompting, sometimes even making small observations and comments.

One time after training, she asks him to pick up the katana. Hanzo does so, taking up a basic stance on instinct. She pushes his legs apart a little, then tells him to move to the next _kamae_. She adjusts each of his pose with small detail differences.

“Do it this way, it will help your balance.” She tells him. 

She starts to tend to him, after an accident. He wasn’t observant enough, and the boy took advantage of it. That’s what he tells to the doctor, who treats his dislocated arm. He is gritting his teeth from the pain, involuntary tears gathering in his eyes as he bites down hard on the leather belt between his teeth. The doctor is quick, but the procedure isn’t painless. Hanzo sees blue as his head swims from adrenaline. 

When his vision finally clears up, he’s in his bed, arm propped up with fluffy pillows. He doesn’t have any recollection of how he got back there, but Shizuki is cleaning his face with a sponge, and it’s enough for him to settle down. He’s watching as her eyes glint a new emotion.

“You are angry,” he observes lightly. And as an afterthought, he offers: “I’m sorry.”

She halts her hand-bathing for a second or two, fingers tightening on the sponge. She’s holding in a breath, and exhales in a soft rush. Hanzo is taken aback when he notices her gritting her teeth.

“He fought dirty,” she grinds out, voice deeper than usual, thick with something Hanzo can’t put his finger on. “He’s not a worthy opponent. I’d-” 

“It is alright. There are a lot of things that are not fair. “He informs her conversationally. He thinks for a moment, tapping his fingers against the blanket, tap-tap.” Like you being assigned to me. You are an onna-bugeisha, I can tell. I bet you would grab the first opportunity to engage in a battle.” His voice turns sour, self-deprecating under a curt laugh. “And now you are stuck with me.”

Shizuki gently smoothes his hair out of his face. She hums thoughtfully. “I wasn’t assigned to you.”

The words don’t register immediately, but when they do reach him, he slowly turns his attention up from his lap, hope flickering again in his eyes. “What are you saying?” he asks, confused.

She tilts her head, and rinses the sponge. “I wanted to become your guardian. The ane-san didn’t want to force anyone to follow you around. I applied willingly. It was enough for her.”

Hanzo feels his jaw slacken with shock. She _wanted_ to be close to him. No, that can’t be true... But she just said… She wouldn’t lie, why would she? There’s no point in it. His lips widen in a smile broad enough to flash his pearly whites. He feels his heart swell with awe and wonder, and he lets out a laugh, a full, joyous one, till his sides and face hurt from the strain. He’s reaching for Shizuki’s hand and holds it in a strong grip, nothing but his injured shoulder keeping him from leaping out of the bed.

“Will you be my friend?” His eyes shine with rekindled hope, small and uncertain, but steady. That’s how people get friends, right?

  
But Shizuki is smiling, just a small one, the corners of her thin lips barely twitching upwards, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Hanzo stares at it, carves every detail of it into memory, so that he could look back at it when he’s sad, dust it down like an old treasure. 

He doesn’t remember her mother ever smiling at him like that.

* * *

 

Hanzo sits in front of the mirror, while Shizuki combs his hair. He can see her pale skin glistening with lotion, as she runs her palms down his locks. Hanzo does that now a lot. He watches. Shizuki told him once, that if he listens with open ears, and watches with not just his eyes, but his mind, he can discover a new world. He’s yet to come across anything supernatural, but he does notice more than usual.

There is a pair of sparrows nestling just above his window, chattering away in the morning. He leaves out bread crumbs for them in the morning faithfully. It takes some time and patience, but soon the birds peck the seeds and crumbs from his palm.

One of the guards has envious crowsbills blooming on the back of his neck. The next week the mark is gone and a fresh bandage covers the skin. The man’s body is clammy with sweat, his face flushed with fever. His eyes look empty as they stare into the open space, not seeing what’s in front of him.

Hanzo isn’t even surprised, when he witnesses him collapse just as he’s leaving the gym after his lessons. What does leaves him astonished is that the other guards don’t rush to his side right away. They are blank-faced, some bowing their head, some huffing, before they reach under the man’s arms and pulling him up. Hanzo doesn’t ask Shizuki where they haul the man.

Shizuki drinks black tea, with two teaspoon of honey. Hanzo makes her one cup as a surprise, offering it shyly. He shuffles his feet nervously as she takes a sip, but his face soon brightens up, as she nods approvingly. It soon becomes a habit to make the other’s tea each morning. She says that he’s getting better at brewing with every attempt. Hanzo beams up at her, and hugs her waist warmly.

It’s on one of these occasions, when he spots her taking small, round pills when she thinks he’s not looking. Probably mint, he thinks, then dismisses it right away. He never smelled the herb under her natural scent and lavender perfume. Hanzo is far from stupid, the woman said so too, so he imitates what he thinks she’d do in his place; he collects information, then comes to a conclusion.

“Does your throat hurt?” he asks her. They are out in the garden; the sun is going down, casting the grounds in an orange hue. Shizuki watches from a tree’s shadow as Hanzo makes tiny splashes in the pond with his fingertips; several koi surfaces as the created rings smooth down on the water-plane.

She hums noncommittally. “Old injury,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate.

Hanzo carefully examines her face, eyes rowing down thin wrinkles, the ghost of a smile which is a tad reminiscent. He doesn’t want to pry in her wounds, though the curiosity wants to untie the knot on his tongue to question. For now, he leaves it at that.

* * *

 

Hanzo approaches six, when he asks her to stay the night. She’s pulling up the covers over his small body, strong, calloused fingers sweeping his locks out of his face. They linger on a small bruise on his cheekbone, green turning yellow. Her small smile dims, eyes turning into sad, then gentle, as she shakes her head ruefully.

“Have to be careful,” she says. “I don’t want them to hurt you because of me.”

The _“not more than you already are”_ goes unsaid.

But Hanzo doesn’t want to accept that. After Shizuki leaves his room with a small kiss on his forehead, sleep can’t seem to get a hold on him. The sheets chafe against his skin uncomfortably, he’s trashing from left to right, his legs tangling in the comforter. It constricts him.

It is enough, he decides. He extracts himself, and pads to the window, feet light on the ground. The moon is clouded in the sky, barely peeking through the fog. It’s a comforting kind of dark, one which gently engulfs and hides children who want to sneak out to the next room.

The sudden wind almost tears the handle out of Hanzo’s hand. His hair flies wildly behind his back untied, as he pushes himself up to look out to the right. The balcony is only a few feet away from him, but the thought of a two story fall makes his hand shake just a little. But as he looks back at his bed, so big for a child his size, caution flies out the window.

His nails dig into the slightly ridged walls of the castle, as he stands up on the windowsill. He takes a shaky breath, gaze turning determined as he judges the distance between him and the rail of the balcony, pulls back, lean muscles cording in his legs, and darts forward with a small shout. He sails through the air, hands reaching forward and forward, and then they grasp…

And they slip. His eyes widen comically as for a moment everything seems to slow down. Images flash before his eyes, blue, blue, so blue, breath painfully stuck in his lungs as he tries to scream, but can’t…

Strong hands grip his wrist, squeezing the joint in a painful hold. Hanzo gasps, his abrupt stop making his momentum swing him forward. His muscles in his shoulder strain. His sight swims, ears ringing, but he can make out long, black hair and a rasping mantra.

“Shizuki,” he chokes out, and then he’s being hugged, pinned to the woman’s chest, as she’s rocking them from side-to-side, and to-and-fro.

“Stupid child,” she whispers hoarsely. Her face is turned into his hair, and her voice has a watery quality. She’s crying. “Stupid, stupid child.”

They stay like that for what feels like hours, but what actually is a few minutes. Shizuki slowly regains composure, breathing slowing down as she picks Hanzo up in her arms securely. The boy wraps his arms around her neck. He doesn’t want to be separated after a horrifying experience like that.

She lays them down on her bed slowly. Hanzo turns without a word in her hold to press his face into her neck. Shizuki runs her hands down his back, humming a small tune, deep and lulling. When the boy’s breathing slows down, she pats his back lightly.

“Do you want to see a wonder?” she asks quietly. Hanzo nods. Of course he wants.

She sits up, Hanzo in her lap, and pulls down the neck of her white _jinbei._ Hanzo gasps, hands coming up to cover his mouth as fresh tears slip out in pearly beads down his face. His right hand trembles, as it comes down to rest on her skin, where right before his eyes a small cinquefoil blooms between its companions. There are _so many._ Bright yellows, and whites with sun kissed centres and red-rimmed oranges. 

“Me?” he asks in disbelief. Then he scrambles to pull up his cloth too. His skin is clean after the night shower, but he’s unafraid to show her all of him, because she _loves him_ , and he loves _her_ so so much it hurts. There, right in the juncture of his neck and left shoulder is a red chrysanthemum, so lifelike Hanzo feels like he may just pluck it out under his skin and offer it to her, because it bloomed for her, he knows it.

Shizuki cries openly, lips pulled into the largest smile Hanzo has seen on her face. She pulls him close, clinging to him like a lifeline, and Hanzo hugs back just as firmly.

“I will bring you to Genji,” she promises, quiet in the dark of her room, and Hanzo believes in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, even I feel bad about the last two chapters, and Shizuki just sorta came to life with her mute words and expression which translates to "give the kid some slack jfc", so here's some fluff. Enjoy it while it lasts.
> 
> Also we hit 150 kudos and almost reached 1k hits under a week, which is _insane_! I can't thank you enough, guys, this is marvelous.
> 
> Flowers in this chapter:  
> Hanzo: Red Chrysanthemum (red; juncture of left shoulder): I love  
> Shizuki: Cinquefoil (small, mainly bright yellow; right clavicle): Motherly love
> 
> Japanese terms:  
> tsuma - wife  
> Arigatou gozaimasu - Thank you very much  
> kamae – fighting stances in martial arts and sparring  
> onna-bugeisha – basically female samurai  
> ane-san – generally translated as older sister; here: wife of the Kumicho
> 
> And if that wouldn't be enough, I played with some names too. Way to make everything complicated. The father is Iwao, which literally means stone man, the mother is Hisoka, that is to say: reserved. Shizuki means quiet.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments (even the smallest ones) are appreciated.  
> Talk to me down the comments, on McHanzo discord (Starkanium #1181) or on tumblr (gameworm)


	4. Chapter 4

They plan careful and slow. Shizuki brings him long parchments full of routes and hidden passages. Maps. She tells him to examine them real close, study them till he knows them by heart.

“Listen to me, Hanzo. It’s really, really important that you can recognize them in an instant,” her voice is serious, not hard, but her rasp is intensified as she kneels before him. She’s anxious. “They might save you… some trouble later. Knowledge is weapon and you can’t afford to be unarmed.” 

Hanzo takes her advice to heart. He copies the maps again and again, until his hands and fingers hurt from use and Shizuki has to take the brush out of his grasp. After a few days it becomes muscle memory. Shizuki asks him to describe several ways to get to point B from point A without using the maps. It’s a test of his memory and resourcefulness. When he passes them, they burn all the created maps with the original ones. They can’t be careful enough, making sure, that everything is clean of ash, so that it wouldn’t raise a hint of suspicion.

In Hanzo’s free time they visit the gardens. Shizuki teaches him how to climb the trees, so that the “almost accident” will never happen again. They have to be careful, looking out for patrolling guards who might report to the Kumicho if they spot them. He’s starting with smaller trees with low branches like the sakura trees lining the walkways and giving shade near the lake, then when he’s confident that he won’t fall, moves to the higher pines. His hand cleverly finds cracks and volubilates in the bark. All the exercise from his babyhood made him quite muscular for his age; he can easily pull himself up from branch to branch without slipping.

After days like these Shizuki always has a proud look in her eyes, though her face doesn’t show much. Hanzo figures that she’d lived too long hiding her small tells like mimicry to actually break the habit. It doesn’t bother him, because he can read her eyes, just as she can his.

Since the accident they get used to the habit of sleeping in the same bed. He doesn’t fear of nightmares, because he knows, that whenever he wakes up, Shizuki will be there to comfort him with hugs and low words only intended for his ears.

Shizuki always reads him some kind of story, despite her voice cracking and going mute at some point from strain. After the first time it happened, Hanzo always prepares a glass of fresh water on the nightstand, just in case she’ll need it. Hanzo follows the stories with rapt attention, tales of dragons and brothers, love and mighty fights. Whenever he gets tired of reading, Shizuki invents a story of her own. Hanzo loves those the most. She speaks softly of soulmates, the person who has the perfect flower for his own.

“How should I know, when I meet them?” He fiddles with the sleeves of Shizuki’s cloth, sight downcast to hide the blush rising on his cheeks. ”There are so many people out there. What if I’ll never meet them?”

“You’ll know it by this.” She taps her fingers against Hanzo’s heart flower gently. “They will bring joy and love to your life. Their heart flower will appear next to your own, and it will be strewn with an ocean of forget-me-nots.” Her gaze turns slightly glassy as she gazes out the window at the clouded sky. “They will make the most wonderful bouquet you’ve ever seen.”

 

* * *

 

He’s seven when Shizuki wakes him up at the middle of the night. He becomes fully alert under seconds, a skill he developed through late practices and dreamless nights. He jumps out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with one fist. He looks up at the woman with a questioning gaze.

Shizuki puts a finger before her lips then motions Hanzo to get dressed, which he does with vibrating enthusiasm. Is this the day? Will he finally meet Genji? She must have comprehended the hopeful look on his face, because she nods and smiles at him warmly. Hanzo’s heart leaps in his chest, fluttering around like a caged butterfly. He doesn’t keep the smile off his face; the dark hides it well enough.

They move out through the window and clamber up the wall to the roof, Hanzo ahead, so if he slips, Shizuki can catch him more easily. They studied the pattern the guards change in for months now; they instinctively know when to move from cover to cover without being detected. Shizuki is like a shadow, slipping past everything soundlessly without leaving a trail, her long dark hair slipping through the air like a gentle ribbon. Hanzo’s palm sweats, adrenaline precipitating on the skin so that he has to wipe them on his pants, but his steps are steady and sure, breath measured and eyes glinting with determination.

They make their way towards Genji’s quarters, jumping from roof to roof under the heavily clouded sky. It’s thrilling, the knowledge that they can be caught and that they are so close to their goal. Hanzo almost gives in to the temptation of tapping his feet in impatience as he waits for Shizuki to open the window; instead he hunkers down, watching the roof’s other side attentively; if anyone draws near, he’ll have enough time to warn Shizuki to retreat.

Shizuki balances on the window-sill, softly tapping a pattern on the wooden frame over and over.

Hanzo furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “What are you doing?”

Shizuki shushes him gently. “I’ve spoken with your brother. He should have opened up by now.

“What if he’s asleep?” he asks. A knot starts to form in his gut. Maybe it’s not the lucky night they were waiting for. “He’s still little.”

There’s a shuffle at the roof above them, and Hanzo’s heartbeat picks up. They stick to the wall, breath bated. It’s impossible, they were so careful… Shizuki looks less concerned, but Hanzo sees her prepare a _kunai_ behind her back as the moonlight glints off from the metal. He gulps.  

More shuffle. Hanzo contemplates the merits of simply breaking in his brother’s window, when to his utter astonishment two socked feet appear on the edge. It dangles there for a second, and Hanzo sees Shizuki’s eyes become saucer round, as she mutters something resembling to a curse.

She leaps from the wall, _kunai_ cluttering from his hand as she outstretches her arms, and as Hanzo glares with an open mouth a small body falls from the roof right into it.

There is silence, then… giggles.

“You caught me” Genji laughs. He reaches up to Shizuki’s neck, and squirms around until he can bounce in the woman’s hold. “Again, again!”

Hanzo takes a tentative step towards his little brother. His eyes drink in the thick dark hair, the ruddy round cheeks, the wide grin. His eyes mist over, but he smears the tears with his cloth before they can spill over.

“Genji?” he calls, oh so softly. “ _Otouto_?” 

The boy halts, looking down at him with drawn brows. He sniffs, jutting out his lower lip adorably. ‘’You called me little.” He says this with all seriousness, as if Hanzo committed a crime. Genji jabs a finger at him. “I’m not little. You are.”

Hanzo freezes for a second, then smiles playfully. “Oh, master Genji,” he draws out the words with fake regret and bows ever so slightly. “I’m sorry this humble peasant dared question your age. You truly are sage.” He looks up with hope. “May I right my wrong with a big hug?”

Genji cocks his head, shuffling in Shizuki’s hold. He leans in to whisper in her ear, but Hanzo can hear him clearly. “What’s a sage?” he asks.

Shizuki’s face is completely serious, as if she’s telling a huge secret. “He called you clever, young master.”

This clearly pleases Genji. He grins down at Hanzo victoriously. “Down, down,” he motions, and she puts him down gingerly. “I want a hug!”

Hanzo catches his brother, as he bounds at him and pushes his face into Genji’s hair. It feels so good, finally holding his brother, feeling the bundle of energy in his arms. He’s not aware of the tears sliding down his cheeks until an involuntary sob escapes him. Genji instantly starts to pull away, panic growing in his eyes as he squashes Hanzo’s face between his small hands. “No, no, no!” he says desperately. “You are sa- sai- clever too. I was just joking, I’m just a little cleverer. Please don’t cry!”

Hanzo leans into Genji’s touch, putting his hand over his brother’s. “These are good tears. Happy tears.”

Genji doesn’t look convinced. “Are you really?” he whispers.

“ _Hai_. I’m just really, really happy to see you. I waited for a long time.” Hanzo smiles wide at him, tear-tracks sliding down his face. “My name is Hanzo. Do you know who I am?”

Genji fidgets in place, looking at Shizuki uncertainly then back at Hanzo. “You are my brother, right? Ma and Pa always talk about you when they think I can’t hear.” He looks sad, the corner of his lips turning down a little. “Sometimes they get really loud, and Ma breaks stuff and Pa drinks alone in his study and doesn’t come out for days.”

Hanzo’s heart nearly breaks in two. He opens his arms wide, and Genji buries his face into the crook of Hanzo’s neck. He wants to pick up his little brother and run, run away fast with Shizuki, away from this place, where the walls have eyes, where people have hollow eyes and stinging words. “I’m here, Genji,” Hanzo rasps instead. He holds his brother like an ornate egg. “ _Aniki_ is here.”

They stay like that for long seconds, until Shizuki puts a gentle hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “We should head back in your room, young master,” he says to Genji. He boops him on the nose, which elicits a small giggle from him. “Can you please open the window?”

Genji humms, and pulls at Hanzo’s sleeve. “Lift me!”

Hanzo easily complies, hoisting him up at his waist. Genji pulls out a chain from his cloth. It glistens in the faint moonlight, several small jewel figures dangling from it. The young boy picks out a key, and pushes it into the lock. As the window opens, Hanzo gingerly places Genji into the room.

Hanzo remembers Genji’s room from that last visit years ago; the clean open space, the nice furniture and soft red carpeting. Now it looks lived in; there are several crayon and ink drawings on the wall depicting dragons, robots and exotic animals. The cradle is replaced with a bed twice the size of Hanzo’s. There are plush pillows and toys laying it, several of them are _pachimari_ and dragon noodles.

Genji bounces onto it as Shizuki closes the window and neatens the curtains. “Climb in,” he whispers enthusiastically. He seems to understand that they must be quiet. “We can all fit into here.”

He doesn’t have to prompt twice as Hanzo removes his footwear quickly and climbs in next to his brother. A thought tickles his brain, tugging at it till he has to ask. “It’s not the first time you sneaked out, is it?” he smiles softly to gentle the question.

Genji’s round face turns a soft shade of pink and he looks up with huge puppy eyes at Hanzo. “Don’t tell?”

Hanzo almost laughs out, but he swallows it in time. He ruffles the soft tuff of Genji’s hair, projecting his movement, so if Genji doesn’t want to be touched, he’d have time to pull away. “I’d never tell a soul. But you should be careful, I don’t want you to get caught.”

Genji bats his hand away playfully. “’m always careful,” he mumbles. One of his fist comes up to rub at his eyes, and he stifles a yawn. “They only caught me four… or five times? They weren’t really angry.” he shrugs, and then seems to perk up. “Will you stay for sleepover? I never had friends for sleepover, Pa doesn’t allow it.”

“Of course I will.” Hanzo pulls him next to his side. He can’t stop touching him, it’s an amazing feeling finally talking to his brother in person. Something constricts inside his chest and his skin burns at his right side. He gasps in surprise, but quickly sheds his cloth as he realizes what’s happening. “Genji, look. Have you seen a flower bloom before?”

Genji’s mouth is slack with wonder, the pull of sleep releasing him as he watches with wide eyes. “Hanzo?” he asks, trying his name for the first time tentatively, and Hanzo gets tears in his eyes again. It’s a night like this. " _Niichan_?”

Hanzo reaches for Genji’s hand, pulling it to his skin. “See? It’s magic.” He looks to Shizuki who has a misty look in her eyes too, smiling at them wistfully behind her hand. “It’s real. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Genji scrambles to his side, looking closely in the semi-darkness. “It’s so pretty,” he whispers. “You really are my brother? Hanzo? Hanzo. Hanzo!” He leaps at the older boy, hugging him tightly, then he hisses into his hair, hands clenching on his brother’s shoulder. “It burns,” he whimpers. Hanzo quickly places a hand to Genji’s left side. He rubs at it gently, and it seems to help as Genji quiets down.

Silence fills the room for seconds.

“I wanna see,” Genji mumbles. All the excitement tired him, and Hanzo can see him struggling to stay awake for something that important.

Hanzo pulls up his cloth even more, and Genji mirrors him. The two verbenas sit snugly on their hips, a perfect match for each other.

“They are pink,” Genji grumbles, but there is clear joy in his eyes.

Hanzo snickers. “What’s wrong with it? Not manly enough for the young master?”

“’m not a girl. I can’t show this to Pa. He always says that I’ll get big and strong flowers, like him.” He scoots back on the bed, till his back hits the big pillows.

Reality cascades down on Hanzo. “You are right,” he sends a look at Shizuki who already has a tube of concealer in her hands. “He would be really mad. Why not we keep the flowers a secret? I already hide my flowers, because they are precious.” He gestures to his blank chest where his heart flower is hidden beneath the same coverage. “Just you and me would know,” he winks for effect, a gesture so unfamiliar on his face he almost winces, but it does the trick as Genji takes the tube away, and looks at it for a long time.

“If I do this,” he asks with a small voice, “will you visit me again?”

“Oh, Genji,“ Hanzo breathes. ”I’d return even if you didn’t. But this is really important to me, and I’d like it if you could hide it anyway.”

“Okay then,” he nods with all the seriousness of a four-year-old. He sees Shizuki shift, and his mood turns sour. “Will you leave?”

“I can’t stay all night, _Otouto_. Pa and Ma don’t like me like they love you, they’d be mad to find me in your room.” Hanzo looks at him with a barely there smile. “But don’t be sad, I’ll come back soon. Shizuki will tell you, when. You see, these meeting are a secret too. It’s really important, these secrets are important, Genji.” He emphasizes as best he can. He can’t stand the thought of Genji getting hurt because of him. “Can you keep these secret?”

“Mhm.” Genji hums. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

Hanzo gets up, pressing his lips into Genji’s hair despite his soft protests, and tucks him in, just as Shizuki did to him. “Thank you. I’ll come again as soon as I can.”

He puts on his shoes again, and is halfway out of the window when Genji calls after him sleepily. “Hanzo?”

“Yes, brother?” he asks. He sees Shizuki checking the roofs and the surroundings, but has faith in her to lead him back to their room safely. “What is it?”

Genji gets up from the bed, and pads over to Hanzo with one of his longer dragon plushie. It’s blue. “Take it,” he says, avoiding Hanzo’s eyes. “I like my pachimari better, so you can have this. It will guard your dreams.”

Hanzo’s heart soars high in his chest as he takes the stuffed toy and hugs it tightly to himself. “I will treasure it like the light of my eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... *waves from the trashcan* I updated. Surprise? This would be the time when I tell you about how my life is currently upside-down, but let's skip this and talk about how awesome you all are. Just this last week I got several messages about how you like this fic, and so I finally bullied myself into fixing my schedule so I could write more. Seriously, I'm awestruck at the general response I got, and for all the readers who keep getting back here *fingerguns*, y'all are precious gems. 
> 
> Also, this chapter? Ehhh, I don't know how I feel about it. Kinda got outta hand, but I hope y'all like it anyway.
> 
> Flower and Japanese terms of this chapter:  
> Hanzo & Genji: Pink Verbena (H: right, G: left side): Family Union  
> kunai - Japanese dagger  
> Aniki and Niichan - both meaning older brother, former honoric, latter used by smaller sibling.  
> pachimari - Japanese plush of a half-onion, half-octopus creature
> 
> Talk to me down the comments, on McHanzo discord (Starkanium #1181) or on tumblr (gameworm). With all seriousness, I need validation like air.


End file.
